


Paradise Lost

by Fitzrove



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endeavour Morse Whump, Episode: s03e02 Arcadia, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Men Crying, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, arcadia spoilers, eventually, going to add relationship tags when i think of them, more of a break-it at the beginning buT, tho it's gonna take us quite some time to reach that happy ending, you'll see how it plays out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove
Summary: Peter should’ve known it wasn’t like Morse to obey orders. It wasn't much of a comfort to him when the dust fell and nobody followed him and Verity out of the chalk tunnels.A tale of injury and recovery spanning the time period from April 1967 (s03e02 Arcadia) to Autumn 1967. Contains a lot of spoilers for Arcadia.





	Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags!! The first chapter is Not Fun for any of the characters involved. I promise it gets better after that, but it's a pretty rough start.

Things progressed fast, really, after Peter grabbed the crowbar to break the lock down and they treaded into the chalk tunnels. He was teetering on the frustrating edge of not quite having his heart beat fast with adrenaline, but instead having cold and looming dread coursing through his veins.

Morse was jittery, fierce with his theories as always, and Peter could almost feel the determination radiating off the man as they pressed on, calling out Verity’s name. He was desperate to solve the case, like he bloody always was, more caught up in the victim’s fate than he should’ve been. Peter prided himself on doing what it took to get through whatever was thrown in front of them, even if the road ended up being rocky, but it wasn’t life and death for him. It couldn’t be, or he’d lose his mind.

He didn’t know how Morse managed it, but on the other hand, maybe the issue was that he simply _didn’t_. Maybe that was why he was such a queer fish.

 

“Verity!” Peter shouted one more time, despite Morse’s constant shushing. Sure, they were both on edge, after a night spent chasing after phone boxes, but even a stubborn prick of a detective constable such as Morse should’ve known that they wouldn’t get far without making their presence known.

“Here!” came the shrill answer, a distant scream. “Help! Here!”

Peter turned to look at Morse for a split second, the torch in his hand pointing in just the right direction to give him a glimpse of the man turning his head and listening before nodding - as if _he_ was the senior officer - and ushering Peter along. There it was, the fiery thrum of his heart, giving him the chance to abandon all doubts and focusing on the needle-sharp urgency of finding the girl.

 

“Verity?” Peter called out once again, as they stumbled down the tunnel, reaching a wider almost-cave. The girl let out a whimper, and Peter pointed the torch at her, trying his best not to spook her any further. She was at the very back of the room behind the metal bars, a bloody _cage_ , tied up.

“It’s all right. It’s the police. Stay calm. We’re gonna get you out”, Peter said, not sure whether it was him or the girl that needed to calm down the most. Them both, really.

“Look”, Morse said, but Peter didn’t have time for his insights right now. This wasn’t the bloody Royal Opera, this was a kidnapped girl they needed to get to safety, and _the bars were on the way_. He grabbed onto them and pulled hard, but they wouldn’t budge.

“Won’t be long now, Verity, nothing to be afraid of”, Peter said. The girl didn’t seem convinced, and frankly, neither was Peter. But he had to try.

“ _Look_ ”, Morse said again, and Peter snapped his head around, his eyes following the light of Morse’s torch.

 

A bloody bomb. Just what they needed. The fear returned, Peter’s heart dropping to his stomach, and he had to take a short sharp breath before he could gather his wits again. He couldn’t exactly say he’d seen worse, as he couldn’t think of anything this bad on such a short notice, but he had to keep his cool.

“Oh, Christ”, Peter said. The next words came out of his mouth almost without thinking, rushed and nervous. There went Morse’s theory of him not having a brain.

“Gotta get that bar we used on the way in. We need something for leverage. I'll do what I can in the meantime with elbow grease.”

 

Morse didn’t move, and Peter almost wanted to scream at him. He didn’t, instead standing there in shaky silence for something that wasn’t much longer than a bullet’s flight.

“You go, I’ll stay”, Morse said, the _stubborn prick of a bastard_ , and Peter shook his head.

“It’s not a debate!” Peter said, unable to keep his voice from rising. “That thing goes off, it could bring the whole bloody place down.”

“You've got something to lose”, Morse snapped back. Peter gave him an angry glare, because _really_ , it wasn’t a matter of negotiating, it wasn’t about who was going to play hero, it was ranks and orders. Just like any other job.

And it wasn’t like Morse didn’t have anything to lose. Jesus, Peter loved Hope, wanted to make things work with her, but he couldn’t think of her too much in situations like this. He’d chosen the risk when he’d become a copper.

“Till the end of the week I'm still your se-”

“ _That doesn’t matter!_ ” Morse shouted, his voice bouncing off the wall. There was something off about his voice, something Peter couldn’t quite place, but it made him bloody angry. Would’ve slapped Morse right across the face, had the situation been any less dire.

And here he’d thought they’d actually started getting along. Guess they hadn’t, if they still turned on each other at the slightest inconvenience like they always did.

 

“With you, it’s always about who’s the bigger dog, isn’t it, and I’m bloody tired of it”, Morse said, positively seething, and Peter was honestly _very taken aback by it_. In another situation he might’ve been amused, in a dark way, but now he couldn’t do anything but stare in shock.

“Morse, I swear -” Peter said.

“No, Peter”, Morse said. “Let me do something for _once_. Make myself useful like you’re always telling me. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

 

Morse was right, there wasn’t enough time. Had there been, Peter would’ve taken back everything he’d ever said about Morse being useless, a bad copper, a snobbish college boy. _He’d never meant for it to cut that deep_ , and he’d thought Morse had grown to know that.

“Peter, _please_ ”, Morse said. “You’re the one who actually knows how to use that thing.”

That was enough to wake Peter up from his stunned silence, and off he went, rushing through the tunnel without looking back. He didn’t have much time, so he would make the most of it, and he prayed that he’d be able to get back in time.

Bloody hell. He should’ve _known_ it wasn’t like Morse to obey orders. It hadn’t ever been.

 

When Peter got back, Morse had already managed to kick and twist some of the bars open. He’d even crawled in, giving Peter ample room to widen the gap with the crowbar.

In the dark, it wasn’t easy to see, but Morse undid the poor girl’s restraints, and Peter had a second or two to catch his breath. The worst was behind, they’d make it out, it was going to be fine. Morse ushered Verity towards the bars, and Peter stepped well out of the way to let her crawl out.

“Come on, get her out”, Morse said, when Peter had helped the girl up and glanced down to see him struggling a bit.

Peter opened his mouth, but Morse gave him a frustrated wave of his hand.

“Go! Get her out”, Morse said. “I’m right behind you.”

 

Peter grabbed Verity as steadily as he could, and off they went, him leading her through the tunnels in the dim light of the torch. He couldn’t hear very well, since the pounding of his heart had taken over and was now echoing, from his left ear to his right, pulsing at the back of his skull. But he _could_ faintly make out that there were hurried footsteps behind them, right then, and he let out a huge sigh of relief. Morse wasn’t far behind.

Just a couple of steps, and they’d be out, and they could get back to the case, the girl would be safe, and they’d reunite with the others to catch their breaths before carrying on with their pursuit of whoever was behind it all.

They only took one step, however, before there was a terrible creak and rumble, and thick grey smoke. Instincts kicked in, and Peter pushed Verity out of the tunnel before following after her. They were stumbling over the gravel and grass, he couldn’t breathe for a moment, it was just like the time he’d almost swallowed a cigarette when he’d been a dumb lad, and when the scorching dust faded, Verity practically collapsed on the ground. Peter didn’t have time to see if she was alright.

 

There’d been an explosion. Morse wasn’t there.

“Morse?” Peter called out, before having to almost double over to cough. The lung-scorching dust was quickly fading, falling off the air and leaving stark desolation in its wake. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nobody.

“ _Morse!_ ” Peter shouted again, cold terror creeping up from his fingertips, to his arms, curling in a tight ball in his chest. It was in his very veins, and he found it difficult to breathe for entirely different reasons now. His eyes were burning from the dust, still.

 

A beat. Nothing. Then Verity, letting out a sob. Peter looked down at her, trying to ignore the gaping, shredded hole where his heart should’ve been - alright, alright, he’d do what he could, but first he’d see if the person he _could_ help right now was alive and well.

“Verity”, Peter said, trying to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you -”

Verity inched away from him, and it took Peter a second to see how badly she was shaking. He crouched down, but she scrambled backwards on the grass, trying desperately to keep her shaking hands from

“Oh God”, Verity wailed. " _Oh God_. We never meant for it to go this far. _Never_ , I promise, I just don’t know why -”

“ _What”_ , Peter hissed. The girl was hysterical, and it was hard to make out what she was saying, but Peter suddenly had a feeling that something wasn’t as they’d believed all along.

“It was us”, Verity said. “Oh God. There was never a kidnapping. We just - you have to understand, it was my parents, I _had to_ -”

“ _What did you do!?_ ” Peter practically screamed, grabbing Verity by her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake the answers out of her. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was as dusty and miserable as one could expect a young woman to be after she’d been locked up in a chalk tunnel for hours on end. _Of her own accord_ , apparently.

“Thelma blew up the tunnels”, Verity said. “Ayesha. It’s - we planned it - we just didn’t -”

Peter shoved her down with the least force possible - horrible situation or not, he couldn’t let the victim-turned-suspect get away - before drawing in as long a breath as he could manage.

 

“Help!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs. God, he wished he’d had a radio. The other search parties couldn’t have gone far in the time they’d been at the tunnels, and it was currently his only hope. Bloody _fuck_. “Somebody, help!”

 

The running steps came in the form of Jim Strange, along with a younger uniform constable, after what felt like ages. Peter pulled Verity up none-too-gently, and held onto her as the constables walked up to them.

“Jesus, matey, I - is that the girl?” Strange said. Verity had covered her eyes, still crying, and Peter had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from shouting that she had _no right_. She didn’t. She just didn’t.

“She’s a suspect, now”, Peter said, practically tossing her at Strange, who luckily caught her in time. “Don’t let her go. We need to question her, too, but not yet. You, lad, go get the others. _Now_.”

The boy ran off, and Peter wrung his arms for a second before deciding he _had to try_. He looked at Strange one more time before running back to the entrance of the tunnel.

“Have you gone mad?” Strange shouted. “Why the hell would you -”

“Morse”, Peter shouted. “He could still be - _he’s still alive_ \- he can’t -”

“Jesus”, Strange said when it dawned on him, his voice more shaken than Peter had probably ever heard it before. Peter didn’t stick around for the rest, instead crawling back to the tunnel. The top couldn’t be too stable, so it was better to steer clear of it.

“Morse!” Peter called out. He still had his torch in his hand, hadn’t had the brain to turn it off, but maybe it was for the better. No signs of life, just his own voice echoing back at him, bloody _mocking him_. The tunnel wasn’t collapsed all the way through, but every now and then there was an uneven patch of rocks and gravel, landed into places where they shouldn’t have been.

“ _Morse_!” Peter shouted again, and this time, he was _sure_ he could hear a muffled response. He scrambled towards the sound, further into the tunnel, and there he was.

 

“Christ”, Peter said. “Jesus.”

Morse let out a groan, twitching feebly, and Peter laid a boundlessly careful hand on his throat, _just to make sure_. His heart was beating, still, but he didn’t know for how much longer. He couldn’t see what was wrong, but he knew something was, terribly so.

“Let’s get you out of here”, Peter said. “Can you move?”

“Rock”, Morse muttered. Lodged over his arm, right, which was twisted in a horribly _wrong_ angle at the pile of rubble behind him. Peter put a hand under the rock, feeling its cruel hard surface, before drawing in a long breath.

“I’m lifting it up on the count of three”, Peter said. “You’ve got to help me pull your arm out.”

Morse nodded. Peter put his torch on the ground, before standing up to get the rock off. Not terribly heavy, but he didn’t want to start any sort of chain reaction. But he needed to get Morse out of that godforsaken hellhole, even if that was the bloody last thing he ever did.

“One. Two. Three”, Peter said, and somehow, they managed, Morse with a considerable amount of shallow breathing. Then he was free, and Peter could help him up. He couldn’t stand on his own feet, but he could just barely lean against Peter and tremble. Peter sucked in a deep breath.

"That’s it. Good“, Peter said, more to reassure himself. Morse didn’t answer.

“Is Verity alright?” Morse asked, _finally_ , breaking the terrifying silence as Peter helped him through the darkness, torch in one hand, the other supporting Morse.

“Yeah”, Peter said. He didn’t have the heart to say anything about what he was pretty sure he’d found out - it could wait until the end of the earth. “She is. And so am I.”

“Good”, Morse said, and then he was silent for the rest of the laboured steps they took.

When they were out in the sun again, Morse went pale and limp against Peter. Peter barely had time to react when he collapsed, but he managed to catch him just in time. He didn’t try to make Morse stand up again, instead crouching down next to him. He couldn’t hear anything else, even though he was sure more people had arrived by now.

“Morse”, Peter said. “It’s okay. Just keep your eyes open, and I - help is on the way.”

 

He hadn’t seen it in the darkness, but now Peter knew that Morse looked worse for wear than he ever had. Not much blood, no, but he was off-colour, and Peter could see blood under the grey dust that had scattered on just about every inch of his skin. His lips were pale, and he wasn’t looking straight at anything, his breathing too bloody shallow to be normal.

“Morse”, Peter said. “I’m so sorry.”

He _was_. He had to swallow hard and tight around the lump in his throat, and the way Morse struggled to keep his eyes open when he looked at Peter didn’t make it any easier.

“Don’t be”, Morse whispered. “You made it out. That’s what matters. It was the only way.”

It all made sense now. The bloody self-sacrificing idiot had worked him up on purpose, to get Peter out of the tunnels first. A mind like his was a blessing, but in times like this, it was a bloody curse. Being just a bit dumber would’ve done Morse some good, honestly, _kept him alive_ when he seemed not to care about it enough himself. Just an ounce of common sense. It’s all it would’ve taken for things to have turned out differently.

 

“No, you _prick_ ”, Peter gasped out, trying to blink back the burning feeling in his eyes. “There’s no bloody universe in which you _die_ because you have to play the bloody -”

“‘s not about playing hero”, Morse said. “Just… how things go sometimes. You deserve to live, Peter.”

“And you don’t?” Peter said, voice bordering on hysterical. “I can’t go on without you. And I know a bloody lot of people who feel the same.”

Morse let out a raspy breath.

“Peter”, he said, unharmed arm twitching a bit as if he was contemplating lifting it on Peter’s shoulder. Peter leaned closer.

“Endeavour?” he whispered. For once, the name didn’t bring disdain with it, just a flash of bright blue from behind tired lashes, which were fluttering as if Morse was falling asleep. No. _No_.

 

“Tell me her name before I go”, Morse said, through breaths he struggled to take.

“You’re not going _anywhere_ ”, Peter growled. “Jesus, Morse, just hold on for me, _please_ -”

“Your fiancée, Peter”, Morse said, gaining some frustrating determination. _Good_. If it kept him alive, Peter would sit through years of that, would keep arguing with Morse and annoying him until his hair turned grey. He wouldn’t think of any alternatives.

“Hope”, Peter said. “She’s Hope.”

“Huh”, Morse said, nearly _smiling_. It looked terribly wrong. “Then you’ll have Hope. Hold on to her. Make a go of it, Peter.”

“Morse?” Peter asked, frantically searching for a lifeline to hang onto, to take a firm rope and tie it around Morse’s waist and bloody haul him all the way to attach him to it as well, but Morse had fallen into a solemn silence. No response, even when Peter tried to shake him awake.

“ _No_ ”, he breathed out. He couldn’t breathe, his nose and throat blocked by tears, and then there were hands on him, someone pulling him up from behind, taking him away from Morse so he couldn’t even _try_ anymore, even though Peter had been the one to get him into that mess in the first place. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

“No!” Peter screamed, trying to land a kick or a punch or a bloody scratch for all he knew against whoever was trying to keep him from running to Morse, from punching Verity Richardson square in the face, from doing _anything_. “Let go of me, you bastard, you utter son of a -”

“Jakes! Jesus”, Strange said, turning Peter around to face him. He was sounding strangely congested, even though he hadn’t been in the tunnels with them. “Let it go, matey. Let them help.”

 

There was an ambulance. Peter couldn’t see, since Strange wouldn’t let him turn back to look at wherever they were hauling Morse off to. Or maybe the reason his vision was blurry was because his eyes and cheeks were wet. Bloody fucking hell.

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of my need to write something angsty for once. My soul is hurting now, but that gives me all the more motivation to finish this fic and fix the pain I brought upon us all.
> 
> I'm not sure when the next chapter is going to be up (I do have an outline) cos I have lots of other fics going as well, but Monica will be in it, since she made a quick appearance in Arcadia. For some reason, I have a feeling she might be a bit more distraught over her patient than she is in the original episode... :::)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated <3


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